


Perfection isn’t Perfect

by luhv (orphan_account)



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-01-31 21:23:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18599683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/luhv
Summary: While walking back home at midnight on the Southside, Jughead Jones came across an unconscious girl on the streets, battered and bruised, almost to death. When he helped her and gave her a place to stay, he made a shocking discovery that leads to them spending time together, and eventually fall in love.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thank you so much for clicking on this story. This does include reports of rape, abuse and other mature themes, however, it does result in a happy ending. 
> 
> If you wanted to check out some of my other works, that would be greatly appreciated, one of them being ‘Roadtrip’ (still writing).
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy this story. Don’t be afraid to comment on what you think because my most favourite thing is reading feedback. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks again, Gracie xx
> 
> Social Media: @_luhvv on Instagram (video edits)

   When I met her, I saw her at her worst. I saw her in a state, sat on the floor in devastation and overwhelmed by alcohol. 

   Her back was against a run-down building on the Southside, her hair a knotted and tangled mess as if she’d been pulled through a bush backwards, as well as her clothing torn and tatty. Her right palm was left open as it rested lifelessly on the floor, deep cuts in it from where her nails had digged in, as well as a smashed wine bottle on the floor beside her thigh, sharp glass shards scattered across the ground. Her eyes were closed, and that’s when I noticed the blood seeping from her bitten lip, and her cheeks masked with running black mascara from her eyes.

   I couldn’t leave her here, knowing that the men on the Southside would be merciless if they saw her, and no doubt rape her, hurt her and even possibly kill her. From the state of her, I daren’t say I had prevented any of that from happening already. I rushed over at the first sight of her, squatting down by her side, my hand gently holding her shoulder, shaking her lightly. Her eyes opened slowly, looking as if her eyelids weighed a tonne, and they were glazed over with fresh tears, already starting to fall again.

 “Hey, are you ok?” I asked her, as I didn’t know what else to ask.

She nodded faintly, but that wasn’t enough to convince me. Nothing would convince me, and I knew I couldn’t leave her here. Softly, I shook her shoulder again, just to check she hadn’t gone unconscious on me.

 “I don’t believe that.” I told her, my voice stern yet quiet.

   She didn’t reply. I noticed her hand move in the corner of my eye, and when she hissed through gritted teeth, I reached for it instantly. The blood from the cuts in her palms were still gushing out, however there was another fresher cut on the side of her hand, tracing up from her wrist to the bottom of her pinkie, made by a large shard of glass that had been laying on the concrete paving — she hadn’t been aware of it and therefore it had ripped through her skin.

  I looked at her with sympathetic eyes, and I wondered what had happened to her to leave her in this state. 

 “I’m Jughead.” I said to her, my voice more soothing now, hoping to get through to her, possibly to get her to open up a little to me, “And I’m going to take you home, get you cleaned up and stuff. Ok?” 

 She shook her head, “Y- youuu are a-a stranger. Annnd I’m f-fine.” Her voice was faint and stuttering, sounding as if it took her effort to speak, despite being drunk.

 “There are worst people out here, trust me.” I responded, my eyebrows raised at her, but her face remained expressionless.

A hiccup then escaped her mouth, her body jolting slightly. She then bit her lip, and I assumed that the slight movement caused her pain. I got up, her eyes opening to see if I’d gone. Even if she said she was fine, we both knew she wasn’t, and even if she seemed as if she didn’t want help, we both knew that that also wasn’t true.

Reaching over, I wrapped my arms around her, and I felt her own arms weakly gripping onto my jacket behind my neck. Using all my strength, I was able to pull her up, and she able to find her feet. However, when I supported her less, her knees buckled since her feet were not strong enough to hold up her weight. I pulled her back up, and knew at that point I’d have to almost drag her home. Her head then fell onto my chest underneath my jaw; I noticed how unstable and light her breathing was, and that made me question if she had been close to death. 

 

Gradually, we made our way to my trailer in Sunnyside Trailer Park, and it had taken us over and hour until we finally arrived — a tortoise would’ve gotten here faster. After a struggle unlocking the door while supporting her, I was able to get in, and I delicately placed her onto the sofa. The clock showed past midnight, which stunned me a little: I wasn’t aware I’d been out that late.

 “What’s your name?” I asked her as I rummaged for a first aid kid in the kitchen.

 “Betty.” She mumbled in response, just loud enough for me to hear.

 I walked back over to her once I’d found the first aid kit, then knelt infront of her, talking her hand in mine, holding it out so I could see the deep cuts; “Alright, Betty, I’m going to apply some ointment onto your hands. It’s going to sting a little.”

She didn’t appear at all phased by my warning, so I just went ahead and dabbed in on, my eyes watching her expression the entirety of the time. Then feeling the stinging sensation — more of an intense pain — she bit her lip, causing it to bleed again. The other hand that I wasn’t tending to began to curl up, her nails digging back into her palms. I uncurled her fingers, wanting her to stop the habit that she had of causing pain to herself. Her eyes looked into mine when she noticed I’d prevented her actions, and she froze. 

“Please don’t do that, Betty.” I whispered, sincerely.

She said nothing back, just kept contact with my eyes. It was like there was nobody behind them, and at that moment I knew what the real meaning of being dead inside was. There was so much pain she was hiding and enduring. 

I continued to clean her hands, and then I moved to her lips, cleaning them of any dirt to prevent the risk of infections. Her hand then landed on mine that wasn’t cleaning her lip, and it made me stop, wondering if something was wrong.

“Yourrrr cute.” She told me, smiling slightly, “Cuter than Archie.” 

Her hand was as cold as ice, and when I looked down at it, only then I realised it was shaking. It was odd how she’d changed from saying so little into attempting to drunk flirt with me. But she’d also mentioned a name: Archie. 

 “How much did you drink?” I asked her, sitting down next to her on the couch.

 She shrugged, “I d-don’t know.” 

 I pointed at the clock on the wall, now showing quarter to one in the night; “Can you tell the time?” 

 Looking up at the clock, she squinted at it; “I don’t know how much I drank.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at her snap at the clock, interpreting my question in a different way. (She thought I wanted her to tell the clock how much she drank.)

“No, Betty.” I chuckled, “I meant can you read what the time it is.”

She looked at me gone-out — it was as if I’d spoken to her in a foreign language. Shaking her head, she avoided eye contact, her head lowered. I stood up, then held my hands out infront of her.

 “Try and stand up.” 

She reached out and took my hands, however even with me trying to pull her up, she couldn’t do it. I let her fall back onto the sofa, then snuck my arms underneath her, one under her back, the other on the underside of her knees. Lifting her up, she was actually quite light, and I carried her through to the bedroom (bridal style), her head resting on my chest, her eyes closed in defeat. Laying her down on the bed atop the blankets, she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. That left me to sleep on the sofa.

As I was leaving the room, I heard her shuffle. Turning my head back around, I noticed she hadn’t gone to sleep as quickly as I’d assumed, and her half-open eyes were glaring at me intently. 

“Wh-where are youuu g-going?” 

“I’m going to sleep in the living room, on the sofa.” I replied, but her expression seemed a little anxious by that. 

“Please.” Her voice managed to say, “I d-don’t want-t-t to be alone.”

 I furrowed my eyebrows, seeing this as an opportunity to get her to open up; “Why?” I aksed, purposely sounding empathetic. 

In an instant, her mouth shut tightly, her eyes looking elsewhere, refusing to meet mine.

 “Ok, you don’t have to tell me now. But if I stay in here with you, you’ll promise to tell me what happened tonight in the morning.” I insisted, and she thought for a minute about it; what ever had happened to her, she clearly didn’t want to say.

Finally, she nodded nervously. I went over to the bed and sat on top of the duvet beside her, my back against the headboard. She seemed a little more relaxed now. I slid down a little, so that I was laying down slightly, and within a moment, Betty had shuffled over, her head on my chest with her arm over my stomach weakly, nuzzling into me.

“Thank you.” She mumbled, her voice faint, as if she was half asleep already, “I f-feel a lot safer-r now.”

Before I could respond, she was asleep (I could tell by the change in her breathing). Her words didn’t let me sleep though. I thought I was overthinking it, but there was something not quite right about the situation. A beautiful girl was sat on the side of the road, left in a state alone on the Southside when she was quite clearly a northsider. Something wasn’t adding up, and as a keen puzzle-solver, I knew confidently when something wasn’t right. I looked down at her, and she was still wearing the clothes I’d found her in, as well as the mascara I hadn’t had chance to remove.

She wore black jeans, now ripped and showing her bare legs, a tan jacket that went past her hips, underneath that a black jumper all pulled and torn, as well as tan ankle-length boots, now covered in dirt and spots of blood, similarly to her jacket. Noticing a strand of her hair had fallen over her eyes, I moved it subconsciously, not realising what I’d done until after I’d done it.

“Oh, Betty.” I murmured under my breath, “What on earth happened to you?”


	2. II

I had been awake for a short while, and somehow I’d had found entertainment in pondering. As I stared into the ceiling, I thought deeply about Betty — who would have a massive headache when she woke up — and her situation. As much as I tried to not think about it too much, it would sneak back into my thoughts and take over my thinking without my control. 

I felt her move a little next to me, cradled under my arm, her head on my shoulder, and her arm in the same place as it was when she’d fallen asleep. She then moved again, and when I looked down at her, her eyes were slowly opening and adjusting to the sunlight that crept though the blinds. Her nose became scrunched up, and then her head fell backwards as she lifted her hand to her head, holding it tightly as if she was trying to shrink the pain. 

When she came round entirely, consciousness returning to her, she then noticed her surroundings, and most shocking to her, the fact she was laying beside someone she probably can’t remember. She sat up with haste, her head looking round frantically before her eyes finally landed on me. 

 “Wha- who the fuck are you!” She exclaimed, however she didn’t get up from the bed. 

Before I could answer, she realised she was still in her clothes from yesterday. Checking her pockets in her jacket (to check if anything had been stolen), she then looked at me with a confused expression. 

   Her eyes then looked as if she had remembered something: “I am so sorry for last night... I-“ she was interrupted by her headache, which she gasped at as she held her head again.

   I then sat up. Her eyes then opened, looking into mine sorrowfully, tears forming along the bottom lid, but she forced them back. It baffled me. 

 “I should get going. I- I don’t want to be a hassle.” She quickly said, climbing off the bed, but she didn’t get very far; her legs wobbled and she tumbled onto the wall, causing me to leap up and to her side in a millisecond. 

 “You,” I said to her, “Are not going anywhere just yet.” 

Slowly, I sat her back down on the side of the bed. Her eyes scrunched up as her throbbing headache increased, and using my hand I lower her back down on the bed, propping up the cushions so she wasn’t fully laying down. 

 “Why are you being so nice to me?” Her voice whispered, her face showing so much hurt, making me feel incredibly sorry for her. 

   Sitting on the edge of the bed, I put my hand on hers, turning around so that she cuts were now visible; “Last night, when I found you, I saw so much pain in your eyes. I knew I had to help you. And especially with these scars...” my voice trailed of, and she was looking away now, the tears forming, and she couldn’t force them away this time.

 “I was drunk. I had an argument with my friend. That’s all.” But it wasn’t convincing. 

 “I don’t believe you, Betty.” 

Hearing her name, her head jolted up, her eyes meeting mine. I let my thumb rub over the scars gently, and I noticed the goosebumps forming on her skin. Suddenly, she pulled away her arm, shaking her head in sharp, quick movements, tears overflowing from her emerald eyes.

 “No! No- I can’t!” She then shouted, “I- I can’t!”  

Her cries were desperate, and seeing her break down infront of me was probably one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to witness. Instantly, I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her frail body into a warm hug as she sobbed into my shoulder. I shushed her, rocking back and forth soothingly, and it reminded me of a moment I’d shared with my sister right before she left with my mother to Toledo. 

When she pulled away, she wiped her tears away with her sleeve, which was dirty and ragged. Her eyes watched mine for a brief moment, flickering between the two, before then covering her face with her hands. 

 “You can’t what?” I questioned, trying to subtle (and not as bold as people said I could be). 

  She didn’t reply, nor did she move her hands.  

 “Betts?” 

 

Using my hand, I moved one of hers away. She opened the eye which was now exposed: it was red and puffy, more mascara smudging down her face. I then moved the other, discovering that that eye was already open.

 “You’re not like him.” Her voice croaked, her hand then landing onto the side of my face — it was still cold, just like it was last night. “You’re kind. You care about me and you barely even know me.” She continued, staring at me in admiration.

  Instantly, her hand pulled back, as if to regret what she’d said. 

 “Who’s Archie?” I blurted out, and her breathing suddenly hitched, horror washing over her fragile face.

 “H-how do you know his name?” Her voice stuttered, her eyes terrified as if she’d seen a ghost. 

I couldn’t remember the context of which she mentioned his name, I just knew that he was a key person in her life since she mentioned him when she was drunk, and now seeing her expression when I mentioned his name, I now knew that he was someone she feared. I opened my mouth to reply...

 “You said that, um, I was cuter than him...” 

 She inhaled deeply, “I- I don’t want to talk about him.” 

 I tilted my head at her, “Really, Betts? I can tell something’s wrong.”

 “And why would I tell you?” She then responded, almost cutting off the end of my sentence.

 “Because.” I replied back, “We made a deal last night.”  

  When she didn’t respond, but only furrow her eyebrows, I continued: “You asked me to stay with you because I made you feel safe, so I only agreed if you told me what was wrong this morning.”

 The same horror wiped over her face again, “No... I- I can’t tell you. He- he would- he would-“ 

 “He would what, Betts?”

She then shuffled away from me, as if I was the monster. When she reached the other end of the bed, she climbed out unsteadily, falling onto the wall, clutching her hair as the pain returned to her head from the unbearable hangover. For a moment I watched her struggle, hoping she would give up and come back, but when she didn’t, I went over to her, holding her shoulders and forcing her to face me. Her arms were shaking, similarly to her hand last night. 

  “Betty.” My voice was stern and maybe a little too harsh, “If you don’t tell me what happened, I will take you to the police and start them off with their investigation by telling them how I found you last night.” 

 “Fine!”

  Once again, she began to sob; “Fine.” She repeated, sounding weak and hopeless; it genuinely broke me to hear such an innocent girl sound so broken. 

She fell beneath me, onto the floor, her back against the wall, giving me a quick flashback of how I saw her last night. I sat opposite her, giving her time to think on how to explain. All over her body, I noticed it become tense, especially her jaw — her teeth were clenching together, and her hands too. I grabbed her hands, causing her to jump up a little from my sudden movements, but it was enough to make her relax a little. Her head hit the back of the wall, making a loud thud. 

 “Hey, don’t go hurting yourself.” I said to her, my voice a calmer tone, as if I was talking to a petrified toddler.

 She wiped away her tears, her hands having to pull away from mine; “It’s better than being sad.”

To my surprise, she placed her hands back into mine, holding them, letting her fingers intertwine with them. I then noticed she was fiddling with them, and I also noticed she wasn’t crying anymore. It sounded odd to anyone else, but it seemed to soothe her, and therefore didn’t bother me. 

 “You promise not to tell anyone.” She asked, her voice a whisper as she focussed on my hands, “...please.” 

 “Of course, Betts.”

  Her eyes then darted up to glare into mine. She was scared, I could see it. 

 “His name is Archie...” she began, then she swallowed hard, looking away from my concerned eyes and back to her hands, “And- and-“ 

   Her voice clammed up, and she was unable to speak. Suddenly, her hands pulled away from mine, gripping the carpet floor as she frantically shook her head. I put my hands on the side of her cheeks, stopping her head’s harsh movements. 

 “Take your time.” I whispered back to her, letting one of my hands fall to the floor beside hers. 

Her hand then reached up, placing it on top of my hand that still remained on the side of her cheek. She took a deep, long breath.

 “At first, he was kind.” Her voice croaked, a singular tear escaping her eye (the one opposite to my hand): “He made me feel confident, and loved. I trusted him with _everything_.”

 “Then gradually. He- he” she took another deep breath, “He began to hit me. Touch me in places I didn’t want him to. I- I wasn’t ready for anything intimate to happen, but he disrespected that.” 

 Her voice became increasingly wobbly, but I let her speak: “He would hit me, touch me, verbally abuse me, threaten me and-“

 “He made me depressed, suisidal even. I even tried to end it once, but my mother stopped me. She took me to therapy, but it didn’t work.”

When she said nothing else, I knew she was about to break down again. Using my thumb, I stroked her face, however I still hadn’t completely gotten my answer, and I could sense that there was more to the story. 

 “Thank you, Betts. For telling me that.” I reassured her, but she refused to look at me, “But I know there’s more.”

 A flow of tears continued down her cheeks, and I didn’t care that it soaked my hand; “He raped me!” 

  Stunned, I froze. 

 “He raped me, okay! Are you happy now?!” Her voice screamed, and she kicked her legs, almost hitting my face. 

Dodging her kicks, I let her express her anger without her hurting herself, sliding to her side so that I was out of the way. As she continued to kick, I searched my brain for things to say — I didn’t expect her to say something that extreme.

 “Geez, Betts. I am so sorry to hear that, I- I had no idea.” 

 She stopped her kicking, whimpering still, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

 “What? Why?”

 “All you’ve done is try to help me.” She forced out, “And all I’ve done is hurt you.Or snap at you. Or yell, even.” 

Not knowing what to reply, I just hugged her, and abruptly, she returned it, her hands clutching the fabric of my t-shirt, wailing quietly, now unable to control it. 

 “Do not apologise, Betty.” I told her, “I am going to help you though it every step of the way.”

 “Do you mean that?” She questioned, still clinging onto me. 

 I nodded in response, “Yeah, I do.”


	3. III

   While she showered in the bathroom, I was on a mission. With my laptop on my lap, my fingers tapped the keys as fast as lightning, searching for anyone at Riverdale High called Archie. And to my surprise, it didn’t take long at all. 

Archie Andrews; a bulldog, the school’s golden boy, a popular jock amongst everyone. Going onto his Instagram page, I saw a few pictures of him and Betty on his profile, smiling happily in each other embrace. How fake it was though. Her smile could’ve fooled anyone, but if you looked closely in her eyes, you could see the discomfort and suffering she was enduring at that current moment. 

It would be easy enough to identify the Bulldog: his hair a fiery ginger and his prize-winning smile. Just as I was about to brainstorm a plan on Betty’s behalf, she came into the bedroom, her hair soaking the clothes I’d leant her to wear temporarily. In a hurry )yet in an unsuspecting way), I shut my laptop, sliding it off my lap to the side as she sat on the side of the bed. 

The dirt and mascara was removed from her face, as well as any bloodstains that were on her skin. She muttered something to her self, however it was unaudiable, and I didn’t want to seem like I was interrogating her, so I didn’t ask her what she’d said. 

 “Feel better?” 

 She looked over at me, stunned that I’d spoken; “Yeah, actually.”

There was a pause, but I could tell she was trying to word something in her head, so I waited for her. After a short while, she locked eyes with me again.

 “Thank you, Jughead.” She added, a lipped smile forming on her gorgeous face, “For everything you’ve  done for me. Nobody’s ever cared for me like you have, despite how rude I’ve been towards you.”

I felt touched by her words, yet also saddened. Somehow, I found it hard to believe that — did she not have a family, or any other friends? Like before, I didn’t pick her up on it. 

 “Well, I couldn’t leave you on the streets. Especially seeing what state you were in.” I replied, ”And I wonder: why are people not nice  to you? What have you done to deserve that?” I responded, raising an eyebrow, and she looked down.

 “I- I don’t know.” Her voice was unsure, “My family never cared, Archie never cared, none of my friends seemed to care...” she paused briefly, “But when you did. I guess I threw me, confused me.”

An idea then flashed though my mind. I leaped up, grabbed one of my denim jackets and slipped it on, then stood infront of her, my arm outstretched towards her. Hesitantly, she took it and I pulled her up so she standing up beside me, but she still was bemused.

 “Have you been to Pop’s?” I asked her, even if I knew that the answer was a yes.

 She shrugged at me, “Of course I have. I’ve lived here since I was four.”

As I had been expecting, a dullness came over her, and that faint smile dropped into a slight frown, her head dropping a little, her grip on my hand loosening significantly. 

 “...but there are bad memories there.”

 I tugged her towards the door, passing her a jacket that was hung on the back of the door, “In that case Betts, I am going to change that.”

She laughed half-heartedly, and she was clearly nervous about going there. I wondered if it was something to do with her family or Archie — or maybe both. 

 

The bell of the diner rang as we walked inside, and I felt Betty’s hand hold mine securely, as if it was sense of security, a safeness. We took a seat in a booth by the window, in the corner away from everyone else. Her breathing had increased, and she was fiddling with a loose string on the leather jacket, left behind by my mother — but that’s a story for another time.

 “Do you want a milkshake? Some fries?” I asked her, handing her a menu, however she pushed it away.

 “No thank you.” She twisted her lips: “I’ve lost my appetite.”

I shrugged it off, still ordering my own meal consisting of a burger and fries, as well as a strawberry milkshake with two straws, just incase she changed her mind. 

When the food arrived, I dug in straight away, demolishing my burger and then eating my fries one by one. I noticed her looking at it longingly: I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself. 

 “Take one.” I offered, pushing the tray forwards to her, and with a shy hand she took one, slowly nibbling away at it.

She smiled her thanks, but it immediately dropped when the bell above the door chimed, a group of boys in varsity jackets proudly strutted in, as if they owned he place. Betty cowered back, covering her face a little with one hand, specifically her eyes. Then, behind them all, entering last was the redhead, the same one I’d been searching for earlier that morning. 

 “That’s Archie, isn’t it.” I stated, keeping my voice purposely low. 

Subtly, she nodded, keeping her face hidden behind me, specifically from them. There were no words needed, but seeing the horror in her expression, I knew for certain now that it was him. 

   They scanned the diner for a suitable booth, and soon enough they found one near to the bar, far enough away from them, and Betty’s hand move away from her face.

 ”Why do they have to be here?” her voice whimpered, her throat clamming up again. 

I reached out, placing my hand on hers, holding it on the table as she calmed herself down. She was agitated now, unable to focus. I wasn't certain she should go back to that school — I could just imagine the lies and rumours that would spread around and make her life a misery. 

 “Hey, it’s ok. I’m here, remember. I won’t let them lay a finger on you.” I reassured her, looking deeply into her fearful eyes, glossed over with a fresh layer of tears; she was trying so hard to stop them from falling, she didn’t want to appear weak. 

But she was far from weak; she was the strongest person I’ve ever met. For ages she’s painfully suffered through a torturing relationship, and only now had she broken down and released all her sorrows. 

 “I know.” She responded, her voice breaking.

After that, she didn’t take anymore fries, nor did she have a sip of the milkshake. Her eyes were constantly glancing at the boys who were cramped into a booth, laughing with boasting voices that made her visually cringe. Then, there was a loud shout from one of the lads, making her freeze as if she was turned into a statue. 

 “Oh look! It’s slut Betty Cooper!” He yelled, his hands cupping his mouth to make it even louder, as well as going to the extent to stand up on his feet. 

  Her face heated up in a deep rosy.

 I turned around, glaring at the cocky Bulldogs with threatening eyes, my teeth gritted together: “Shut your fucking mouth, dickhead!”

As soon as that came out of my mouth, the boy sat down, and Pop also came around from behind the bar, his arms folded as she glared at each one of us.

 “Last warning.” He called out to us before returning to the till. 

I turned back to face Betty, who was smiling thankfully at me, her head lowered so that they had less of a chance of being able to see her. 

 “Who was that?” I questioned her, my hand still holding hers as she fiddled with my fingers again.

 She bit her bottom lip, “That was Archie’s best mate, Reggie. He was always a dick.” 

 I raised my eyebrows, “You don’t say.” 

  She chuckled. But it soon fell into a shallow expression. 

 “When are you going back to school?”

 She shook her head at my question, “I don’t know.” 

I pierced my lips, thinking of a solution. I needed a way of protecting her at school, but so that I didn’t look suspicious or anything.

 “What if I entrolled at Riverdale High?” I threw out there, and her head jerked up, light in her eyes. 

 “Are you serious? What about your current school? And friends?” She chewed the inside of her cheek, “Would you really just give that up for me? I mean, you hardly know me.” 

 I lifted my hand to her cheek, caressing it softly; “Yes. I would.”

I heard footsteps from behind me, and I saw Betty’s face turn a dull gray when she saw who was approaching us. Without having to turn around, I knew exactly who was behind me.

 “What are you doing with my girlfriend?” 

Rotating my head to looking at him, I saw he had  his hands in balled fists, his lips a firm line and his eyes giving me a death glare. Betty may have feared him, but it didn’t affect me.

 “Your girlfriend, seriously?” I scoffed, beyond furious, "You treat her like fucking shit!"

With fury rushing through my bones, I stood up out of the booth, blocking his way to Betty, who was shaking in her booth, probably scared for her life. I wanted to punch him, beat him into the ground. 

 “What did you say?” He growled, inching towards me, but I refused to move backwards.

 “You heard me.” I stated, reaching into my pocket for my pocket knife that I was now thankful I’d brought, but I didn't take it out just yet: “You beat her and raped her, asshole. I recommend you leave before your left for dead.”

He faked a laugh, then raised his hands and pushed my chest, however it didn’t move me very far. I yanked the knife out of my pocket, flicking it open and holding out to his face, only centimetres away from him. Instantly he backed away, his hands held up in surrender as Betty gasped, now realising what had happened. 

 “Go, then.” I snapped, and he was out of Pop’s in an instant, his friends following after him, all glancing at me before the exited the diner.

I watched after them, enraged. That red-headed idiot had the nerve to try and pick a fight — I probably had steam coming out of my ears by now.


	4. IV

   When I turned around, her petrified eyes stared at the knife, her body frozen stiff on the spot. I shoved it back into my pocket, her eyes following it until it was entirely out of sight. Concerned at her weird behaviour, I slid back into the booth, but her face didn't change from the fear it had displayed. I reached out for her hand, but she pulled it away before I could touch it.

 "Why did you bring a knife?" she questioned, keeping her voice relatively low, which I was thankful for.

 I didn't really know how to respond: "Well, I was expecting something to happen, so I brought it just to be safe."

   She didn't relax. Her muscles were visibly tense, and her jaw was clenched. I had no idea what was rushing though her mind, and it made me nervous. She gulped heavily, looking down at the table, looking to me as if she was remembering something. Suddenly, she sped out of the diner, her shoes sounding against the marble floor, and then the bell ringing as she left. Leaving a ten dollar bill on the table, I chased after her, almost slipping off the pristine floor, skidding slightly as I reached the diner door. I looked out over the carpark, scanning the area for a sign of Betty, but there was nothing. Without contemplation, I ran to the street, searching for her blond hair and the jacket I'd given her, panic rushing over my body. 

   My mind couldn't help but think of the worse scenario's in this situation. I had no idea where she went, and I knew damn-well I needed to find her before she regretted something.

 

 

Betty

 

   As soon as I saw that knife, I saw flashes of memories in my eyes. Before I realised what I was doing, I had already bolted, down the street with tears streaming like frantic waterfalls down my cheeks. My vision was blurry, darkness creeping from the corners and preventing me from seeing properly as my head began to spin. I stopped in the park in a quieter area, hidden behind a collection of trees, my knees buckling as I fell to the floor, my fists clutching the ground, squeezing my eyes shut, hoping that when I opened them again I'd be able to see.

 But I couldn't.

   I couldn't even make out the carvings on the trees that me, Archie and Kevin made with an old pen when we were about ten, when everything was so innocent and happy. And now, things had totally changed. My old bestfriend was now a heartless jock, and Kevin distanced himself from us when he started dating someone, I think his name was Joaquin or something. I wanted to back to then so bad, not just to enjoy being young and carefree again, but to fix my errors and to stay away from Archie; I wanted to make sure i didn't feel this pain anymore.

   I felt myself fading away, my head falling back until my back hit the floor, just able to see the cloudy sky before my eyes only saw blackness. My conscience slipped away, and my body went entirely numb from head-to-toe.

 

   Before my mind could fully process what was going on, I could feel warm hands holding my lifeless body off the dirty ground, rocking me, shaking me, calling my name to me. My eyelids felt as if they weighed a tonne, and I struggled to open them. My hands felt as if they were being stabbed by a thousand tiny needles, and I struggled to move them. My entire body felt dead, but my mind began to work.

  The voice. I recognised it. 

  Jughead?

   He was holding back tears, I could hear it. It broke, and then no sound came out briefly, however he continued to shake my body, more frantic now. I wanted to show him a sign that I could hear him, but my body didn't function. It was like I'd been turned to stone. 

 "Help! Somebody help!" his voice shouted, and despite him being right next to me, it sounded so distant, I would've guessed he was miles away if I couldn't feel his hands on my arms and waist.

   I felt my heartbeat in my head, banging like a rock-band's drum beat. He hissed, cursing to himself. I heard nothing else, no other footsteps or another voice, so I assumed nobody else came; I had ran into a isolated area, hidden from anybody else and incredibly secretive. My body shivered as I felt one of his arms snake under my legs, the other around my back as he lifted me off the ground. My torpid body hung, lethargic and cold. 

  What if I didn't wake up? 

  I began to panic in my head, petrified for my life for the first time in forever: I'd never really cared before.

  But now, I felt like I had to wake up.

  For Jughead.

 

 

Jughead

 

   It had taken me three hours to find her, and when I saw her body lying there, surrounded my trees in a desolate area of the park, I feared the worst. Her cheeks were light porcelain, her hand ice cold. She was breathing, I could tell that for sure, but it was faint and uneven. It made me nervous, on edge. I shouted out for help, but nobody was around to hear. I could feel the blood pulsing though my veins, and my head had become scrambled with fleeting thoughts. I had no other choice but to lift her and attempt to carry her back, or call for help again when I was near more people. 

   I lifted her up, and it wasn't the first time so I knew what to expect. Her light, lifeless body hung in my arms, and I made sure her head was against my chest so it wasn't hanging back. As I headed to a more populated area of the park, I found myself whispering to her, telling her it was going to be alright like she could hear me, but I didn't really know if she could. Getting closer to most populated area of the entire park, I saw two teenagers, sat on a bench, seeming Betty's age. I recognised one from my father's gang, the Southside Serpents, so I immediately went over to him for help; he knew where I lived, and he knew people that could possibly help.

 "Joaquin!" I called out, obvious struggle in my voice.

   His head shot round, and his face dropped as soon as he saw Betty. The other person turned to see too, but his face was instantly washed over with horror. He got up and dashed over in a millisecond,  followed by Joaquin.

 "Oh my god... Betty?" he gasped, his eyes widened in pure disbelief.

   I had no idea who this was, but it was clear he knew her. Maybe he could help somehow, not just in getting her back to mine, but to understand her a little more, try and figure out who she was before her torturing relationship with Archie.

 "Joaquin, do you think you and, uh-"

 "Kevin." Betty's friend breathed, still staring at the girl in my arms.

 "Yeah. Can you help me get her back to my trailer?" I asked him, and he nodded straight away, then used his head to gesture to the car.

 He looked down at her briefly, "You alright carrying her?"

  I nodded. She wasn't too heavy.

   They lead the way, a power walk on to reach the car quickly, as well as avoiding questioning glares from strangers. When we reached Kevin's truck, I lay her down in the back, her head on my lap as I stroked her hair, the worry having an opportunity to build up now. Kevin and Joaquin were sat in the front with the Serpent driving, and I noticed Kevin looking back to Betty often, concern flooding his eyes. She looked so peaceful and angelic, but she also looked on the bridge of death, which petrified me; I've only known her since last night, but I felt almost responsible for her, and I knew that she needed help as she had nobody else to go to, not even her own mother.

   My eyes watched her intently, but I was full of fear. I'd never felt so uneasy in my life, and for some reason my arms began to shake as I stoked her golden hair softly, still hoping for a response, anything at all, even just a slight movement of her hand. The car was silent for the entirety of the ride, and it gave permission for my anxiety to torment me. 

 

   Once we arrived at the trailer, I lifted her out of the car, her delicate frame decrepit in my shaking arms. When we got inside, I placed her on the sofa, watching her before then turning back around to face Joaquin and Kevin.

 "Thank you," I said to them, running my hand through my hair, trying to calm myself down.

 Joaquin shrugged, "No problem, but what's she to you?"

 I looked back at her, then back at them, "I found her yesterday night, and I couldn't leave her. I honestly thought she could've been dead. I helped her and-"

 "Wait, she could've been dead?" Kevin interrupted, holding his hand up at me.

  I nodded, falling onto a seat at the table, my hands running over my face.

 "Do you know why?" he continued, astound.

 "Archie Andrews." I growled, the name through my gritted teeth, "He's been abusing her and hurting her for how ever long, and then he went and raped her."

  Kevin's body instantly stopped moving, becoming just as still as Betty's. 

 "What?" Kevin gasped, sliding into the chair opposite my as Joaquin leaned against the wall, arms in his pockets, also curious.

 I leaned back in my chair, "That dickhead fucking raped her. He made her life a living hell, and if I hadn't of helped her, who knows what would've happened. She may have even killed herself, who knows."

 "I swear to god," he hissed, "He can't get away with that, can he?"

 I shrugged, feeling the unusual sensation of tears welling up in my eyes, "I don't know."

 

 

 Betty

 

   I could hear them taking, their words clearer now. They were talking about me, and I had no idea that Kevin was so concerned about me. We hadn't spoken in just over a year, and here he was with his boyfriend, worrying about his old bestfriend. I can't lie, I've missed him.

   With all my effort, I tried once more to open my eyes, and despite my efforts, I was able to do it. It hurt though, as if I'd been scratched on the eyeball over and over. My eyes strained to look around, and I could barely see anyway. I heard the rumble of the car on the journey hear, and I'd felt the soft caress of Jughead's hand on my hair. 

 "Jones," I heard Joaquin say, "She waking up."

   I felt Jughead's hand holding mine a second after the chair had moved. He was humming my name to me, and in the corner of my eyes I could see him, his unfocused red and puffy eyes, his lips white he'd pressed them together that long.

   My muscles tried to refuse to move, but I fought it, bringing my hand to the side of his cheek, feeling how smooth his cold skin was. As my vision became clearer, I could see his face much sharper, and could make out the tears at the bottom of his eyes that he was trying to hold back. He let out a deep breath, sounding as if he'd been holding it for a while. He showed a relieved smile.

 "I'm sorry." My voice croaked, barely any sound escaping my lips: I was surprised he was able to hear it.

 He shook his head, his eyebrows furrowed, "No, Betty. Why do you think that?" I could hear the shakiness as he spoke.

 "I- I ran away."

 His hand lifted and landed on my hair, fiddling with it softly, his eyes staying on mine; "No. Don't blame yourself, Betts."

   My eyes shifted behind him, my focus changing to Kevin, who was watching me, studying my face. There was a frown on his face, and I could tell he regretted something; we may have not been friends for a few years, but I still knew him like the back of my hand.

 "Kev?"

  He stepped forward, then took a seat next to me. My eyes followed him, and he didn't know what to say, his mouth slightly open. 

 "I'm so sorry, Betty. For not being there for you. I just thought that you wouldn't care about me when you started dating Archie..." his voice trailed off.

 I put my hand onto his, "No, Kev. I'm sorry I gave you that impression."

   For a few moments, it was silent. I could feel my numbness that gripped my body fading away, stinging slightly rather than the usual tingle. Trying to get up, my body fell limb again, landing back onto the sofa weakly. It was hopeless, I may as well just stay here and feel like trash.

   The chair moved from beside me, and I saw Kevin get up. He made his way over to the door, glancing sheepishly over to Joaquin, who rested a hand on Kevin's back soothingly.

 "I'll you in a bit, Jughead. Joaquin'll give me your number." he said in a quiet voice.

   Jughead got to his feet, nodding once, "Sure. You can come back tomorrow if you want, I need to talk to you about a few more things - if you don't mind, of course."

 "Yeah." 

   And then in a matter of seconds, it was just me and Jughead in the trailer again, and it reminded me of last night, just if I was sober. Then I remembered something he'd said to Kevin and Joaquin... ' _I honestly thought she could've been dead_ '.

 "Did you really think I could've been dead?" I questioned, reaching out for him.

  He sat where Kevin had been, putting his hand on my leg, making me jump a little as I hadn't expected that.

 "Yes, I honestly did." He confessed after a short while of hesitation, "You looked so... pale and... lifeless."

  I could hear the genuine fear in his voice from the memory.

  Did he care about me?


	5. V

   My hair was a tangled mess the next morning, and as I lay in Jughead's bed staring at the bland ceiling, I felt happy (or more than usual, anyway). I hadn't felt this way in ages, maybe an entire year. In the other room, I heard Jughead, his footsteps pacing the room. For a short while, I listened to the rhythm, the regular beats as he walked back and forth: it was oddly soothing. My eyes snapped open again when they stopped, and I hadn't realised they'd closed. Despite my body still being weak, or forced myself to sit up, leaning against the wall behind me, my head still spinning slightly. Jughead must've heard it, as he peered his head around the door frame, checking to see if I was awake. 

 "How are you feeling?" he asked, slipping into the room and sitting on the side of my bed, close to my leg. 

   Though unsure, I nodded in response, but he wasn't convinced. Neither was I in all honesty. I tried to get up, but my arms were too shaky to hold me up. I hated this, feeling weak, feeling depressed, feeling like the damsel in distress. 

 "Do you want anything?" 

 I shook my head softly, "I think I'm okay. But thank you."

 He stood up, making his way to the door; "Kevin's coming after lunch, but you've got plenty of time, it's only half nine."

 "Okay, I won't be too long. I just need to get some strength back first."

   He nodded once, then left, and I could hear him pull out one of the dining room chairs to sit at. He was muttering to himself, but the words were inaudible. 

   As I sat there, watching the world go by outside Jughead's trailer window, I began to overthink, something I did way too much. While I'd been staying at Jughead's, school had completely slipped my mind, as well as my mom and home. When I return to school, what will people think? Will they think I'm a slut since Archie would've spread a lie by now. When I return home, will my family even care? I doubt that, they never have in the past. I shook my head frantically, throwing the thoughts out of my head. Even though my body wasn't strong enough, I climbed out of bed, finding support by using the wall. My fingertips clung to the wall as i slid across it, using everything I had in my to keep upright. 

 "Betty?" I heard Jughead's voice call, "Are you alright in there?"

 "Yeah." I lied, but I could hear the struggle in my own voice, and I knew Jughead would too. 

   In an instant, he was in the room, looking at me as if I was insane. His hands held my arms, holding me like I was a baby taking my first steps. Step by step, we made it into the kitchen, and he sat me down on the chair which was already out. I could tell he was debating something in his mind, I'd seen the expression countless times on my parents faces when I tried to talk to them, but their response was always minimal. 

 "What is it Jughead?" I asked, exhaling heavily. 

 

 

Jughead

 

   She could see right through me. I didn't want to ask her what had happened to make her so afraid of my pocket knife, but I needed to know. How was I supposed to help someone if I didn't know what to do or what had happened. 

 "Why were you so afraid of my knife?" I blurted out, sliding into the seat opposite her. 

   As I'd expected, the recognisable horror washed over her face, the glisten in her eye disappearing as it became dull again. I saw the tears welling up, and it made me regret asking instantly. She looked petrified, as if I was about to her kill her in that moment. It made me question things more though, such as what had she been through to be afraid of that question. I could see all the pain she was baring, hidden behind the mask of her delicate face.

 "I- it was nothing." she stuttered, her eyes purposefully avoiding mine as I stared at her apologetically.

   I was sorry for the pain she had to go through.

   I was sorry for asking a question that caused the pain to come back.

   And for some reason, I was sorry for everything else that had happened, as if it was my fault, even if it wasn't and had nothing to do with me. 

  There was silence, and she knew I didn't believe her. She was a terrible liar, and we both knew that.

 "Okay, fine." she said, her voice breaking, covering her tear-stained face with both of her hands for a brief moment. There was a long moment of silence before she continued; "One time, I was next-door, over at Archie's. We were studying for a test, and he asked if i wanted something to eat, and since i was pretty hungry, I said 'sure, why not'." she paused, sniffing away the tears as she wiped them away with the back of her hand; "He came back upstairs with two sandwiches, one for him and one for me, but also a knife as well. He said he didn't mean too, but when I looked at him doubtfully, he changed, like a flick of a switch."

   She didn't say anything else, her mouth tightly pressed shut, forcing back the wall of tears that glossed over her eye. It was hard to watch her go through that pain, but I needed to know what happened. I had a thought that if I'd collected enough evidence and took it to Sheriff Keller, we could finally put Archie behind bars where he deserved. 

 "Betts-?"

 "I'm okay." she interrupted, and then she continued; "I saw it in his eyes. The desire to hurt me, to make me scream in pain; he loved it when I pleaded him to stop, he said it made him feel powerful. I remember he had the knife in his hand, and it was a sharp one, not just a regular butter-knife, and when he came over to me, he pushed back onto the bed, and I'd hit my head against the wall..." her voice trailed off, and I could see how hurtful this was to her: she was so broken; "And then- and then he brought it up to my arm and-"

   She burst into tears, and I was by her side in the blink of an eye as she gripped my shoulders and held her frail frame close to me. I was holding her up, keeping her from falling onto the floor entirely. Using my hand, I held her head into my neck, letting her sob into my shoulder, the devastation almost to hard for her to bare. I shushed, her rocking her and soothing her and she let it out, and I was thankful she wasn't trying to hurt herself anymore.

 "I just want to be happy." I heard her whimper, the words muffled by the fabric of my top, now damp from her cascading tears, but I didn't care about that.

 "I know, Betts. And it will be." I replied in a broken whisper, keeping her close to me.

  Then an idea came into my head.

 "If it's any easier, why don't you show me. You can draw it or write it if you wanted." I suggested.

   She pulled away from me, looking from one eye to the other, and then back again. Without saying another word, she lifted up the short(ish) sleeve on her top, revealing to me a pair of asperous cuts, scarring her smooth skin. I stared at them in disbelief as she watched my expression: I could feel her eyes on me nervously. That prick; it baffled me how a person was able to do that to someone, and from what Betty had said, it sounded like he enjoyed it too. _Sick bastard_ , I thought to myself, looking at the scars with unblinking eyes.

 "He cut me, Jughead," she cried, pulling her sleeve back down, "He hit me and touched me too. I plead for him to stop, but he didn't. Not until I'd passed out." 

   

 

Betty

 

   My heart physically ached, the pain wrenching in my chest as I let the tears fall down my cheeks. By now, my eyes were sore, the salty tears affecting them. As I looked into Jughead's eyes, I saw sadness, however, I also saw anger, extreme anger. He was furious, raging even. I pulled him into me, craving to feel safe in his embrace again. Opening up to him felt easier - it may have not looked it, but it was. I trusted him, that's why. Without hesitation, he hugged me back, his warm, gentle hands holding my back. Maybe this hug calmed him down too. 

   He seemed to understand me, and it was something I was never used to. He would hold me safely, close to him in a warm embrace: I was never given that as a child. I didn't realise how much I needed it until I finally got it, and now I want more. 

"Thank you, Betts. For telling me that." He told me, his voice sincere. 

 I pulled away from him, letting my eyes lock with his, "You needed to know," I said to him.

  He showed me a thin lipped smile, but his concern was still showing. 

 

   Later that day, I was sat on the couch, watching some boring-ass TV show about people trying to win money. It was relatively interesting, but not for too long; sooner or later I found myself drifting off to sleep from boredom. Jughead was sat in the kitchen, his fingers tapping the keys on his laptop quickly - I wondered what he was writing. The sudden sound of knocking made me almost jump out of my seat, my eyes snapping open as I practically fell off the sofa. I heard Jughead chuckle as he went to open the door, smirking over at me. Realising what was happening, I was quick to sort out my ruffled hair which was sprawled out over the sofa in a tangled heap, wiping over my tired eyes.

   Kevin entered, looking sheepishly over at Jughead as he shut the door behind him. I stood up, smiling to him that sweet smile I did when I was little, and he couldn't resist flashing one back. I hugged him briefly, but it didn't make me feel the same way Jughead's hug did. A hug from anyone else would not have the same affect on me like Jughead. 

 "How are you?" I asked him, taking a small step away from him.

 He scoffed, "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

 I shrugged, "I'm feeling fine." I reassured him, "Now that's over with, how are you feeling?"

 He gave into my protests, "I'm managing. Kinda in shock, if I'm honest."

  Jughead joined us, hanging his arm over Kevin's shoulder, causing him to grimace, feeling slightly uncomfortable. 

 "Want a drink?" Jughead asked him, removing his arm to Kevin's relief.

   We decided to sit at the kitchen table. It was easier to communicate there. At first it was slightly awkward, nobody really saying anything apart from small talk, however it didn't last long.

 "When are you coming back to school, Betty?" Kevin asked me, placing his glass of water back down onto the table.

  I'd given thought to this earlier.

 "I'm not sure, Kev." I honestly replied, shooting at quick glance at Jughead, "I'm not really looking forward to all the rumours and lies Archie's spread."

  Kevin bit his tongue when I said this, and I knew some things said already.

 "What? What is it?" I demanded, plea in my voice.

 He hesitated, "Well, Archie's said that you're a slut and you broke up with him because the you-know-what wasn't good enough for you. Now he's saying you've found a new dick to dance on, meaning Jughead."

  My jaw dropped in disbelief. That asshole! It made my blood boil to hear this, especially after everything he's done to me.

   I felt a hand on mine, uncurling my tense fingers. Looking over at Jughead, I saw the seriousness in his eyes, his hand stopping mine as he held it gently. He mouthed 'don't' at me, so I didn't relaxing my hand, however the anger didn't go away.

 "Betty?" Kevin asked after waiting for a response.

 I smiled falsely at him, swallowing back any possible tears; "I'm okay Kevin. I'll show everyone when Archie's behind bars."

  My eyes shifted over to see Jughead's expression, and he was smirking proudly, his hand still intact with mine.

 "I am so in!" Kevin exclaimed, sounding more like him real self, and I was excited: I'd missed this feeling.

 

   School was the next day, and I was  _not_ looking forward to it one bit. If anything, I was dreading it. I dreaded the stares, I dreaded the gossip, and most of all, I dreaded facing _him_ , facing Archie. Jughead said he was going to apply to the school, and despite me telling him he didn't have to, he ignored me, saying that he needed to. To be honest, I was glad he was coming with me; I would feel a lot safer knowing he was by my side. I knew Kevin would be there, but it wasn't the same. 

 "Stupid internet," he growled at the screen, "Why won't you- oh, there we go."

  I giggled at his miniature war with the computer, it's slowness irritating him. 

 He looked over to me, failing at holding back a smirk; "What?"

 "Nothing." I replied, smugly, grinning from ear to ear.

  A short while later, after a few final clicks, he snapped the laptop shut. He seemed satisfied, so it all seemed fine. Picking up his phone, he sent a few quick messages to who I assumed was his dad, getting replies in an instant. 

 "That was easier than I thought," Jughead said, slipping his laptop off his lap and onto the arm of the sofa.

 I smiled thankfully at him, "You didn't have to apply to my school just to make sure I'm alright."

 He seemed taken back my comment, "Of course I did! What if Archie tried to do something to you, or what if some gossiping bitch came up to you and verbally abused you?" 

 "I can handle it," I told him, letting my hand fall on his leg; his eyes darted to it, his breathing hitching in his throat at my touch, "And anyways, that's what I have been doing for the past few years."

 

 

Jughead

 

   It broke my heart into a million shattered pieces to hear that come from her mouth. It affected me emotionally that much, I forgot how much her hand on my leg had been distracting me, sending electrical currents through my bloodstream. I placed my hand atop hers, and instantly her breathing became irregular. 

 "Don't say that," I told her in a broken whisper.

  Slowly, her eyes drifted away. "It's true though, isn't it."

   I refused to reply. Yes, it was true, but I didn't want to agree. I didn't even want to think about it. She was so sweet, so kind, so innocent; she didn't deserve the pain she's been going through.

 "Not anymore." I said to her, my fingers underneath her chin, lifting it up to be level with mine and forcing her eyes to meet mine. 

   The corners of her lips lifted as if they were being tugged at, pulled into a weak smile. 

 "I hope so." was her response.


End file.
